Her name was Catherine, but they called her Cat, which suited her personality well. She was the brand new Assistant Principal’s spunky five year-old daughter. It was only the second week of school and I’d already heard enough about her to wonder why her father’s hair wasn’t gray — and there she was in fromt of me, hanging upside down from the monkey bars. Her hair and arms dangled toward the ground, with her pink striped shirt rumpled at her armpits and ber belly hanging out.
I walked over and put one hand on her shoulder and one hand on her back to help support her. “Young lady, get down now!” She swung her hands to the bar, loosed her feet and casually dropped to the ground. Hands on her hips, blonde hair sticking out every which way, blue eyes shooting sparks she demanded, “Do you know who I am!?”
“Yes, ” I answered, “I do. And that doesn’t change the fact that rules are rules.”
“Oh,” she said. “Darn!” And then she grinned at me and skipped off to play.